You are Neutralplier. You live in a very spacious house, which is entirety empty except for a pillow, a blanket, and your computer, which you use to blogpost about your daily life. Your day has been largely uneventful. When you woke up, you immediately opened your computer to post about how you just woke up, and also how you stuck a finger up your ass recently but it didn't really feel good, it just felt okay, and that was kind of disappointing. But you're not gay though, you were just trying it out. Also you wish you had a BBC dildo if that matters but you can't afford one. Anyway, a weird rock just crash landed through your roof, and now sits at your feet. It has a strange face carved into it that doesn't look like anyone you've ever seen. You don't feel particularly strongly about this. It's kind of cool, you guess. What do you do?
Rules are simple: Votes are tallied every hour, with whatever course of action being the most popular being the course of action taken. Write ins are encouraged and non-mutually exclusive votes will be combined if possible.
When a roll is called for, roll however many D100 are specified. 5- is a 'crit fail' and generally means something bad is about to happen. 95+ is a 'crit success' and generally means something good just happened. a 'crit success' trumps a crit fail. User input on both will be taken into consideration.
Once per thread, if three or more people invoke it, a single roll may be re-rolled.
You are Alex. A newly minted trainer and camping enthusiast just starting out on your journey at the age of seventeen after your father lost his job in order to help pay the bills. On the road, you met Fie, the Fire Gym Leader, Gareth a novice Aura Guardian on pilgrimage and Holly, a runaway heiress using a pseudonym. You've also made enemies of Team Green a group of violent, radical activists looking to abolish pokemon training.
Recently, Fie returned to her gym for the time being.
Last thread, an inopportune Nat 1 prompted you to return to your hometown in order to find Latias after some rich bastard tried to steal her, wrecked your house and injured Kay O-o in the process. After punching him into next week, you spent the night with Jacky's family and secured a seventh 'Companion' slot on your team so you could keep Latias with you at all times. You also agreed to do some survey work for Professor Conifer and were just discussing your reward...
All around the world, various individuals have been empowered by a mysterious influence known as the Incarnation system, granting supernatural abilities and strength designed to emulate the divine might of the classical pantheons. Even as humanity gained strength, another influence hellbent on devouring the universe, the <span class="mu-s">Uncrowned King</span> prepares to transgress into the confines of Earth’s reality using its foolish worshippers as a door.
The protagonist of this tale is the incarnation of Atë, a minor goddess in the grand scheme of Greek mythology, who causes and presides over folly and ruin, though her title and its implications are now mostly in name only as she sheds the training wheels of the system to finally, truly enter the realm of godhood. Now, in the final days of Earth as she has known it, Atë makes the finishing touches to her new source of strength while enjoying what may be the rest of her life as a human.
Here it is– the <span class="mu-r"><span class="mu-s">end of the line</span></span>.
You and Pheme float down the ice-cold waters of the lazy river, warm sun wrapping your skin in a comfortable heat as you splay out on a double-floatie lackadaisically training your eyes on a couple (seemingly) bickering in the frozen margarita line.
“Drinking problem?” You take a shot in the dark, “The chick has a glass but the guy doesn’t. Might be a refill?”
“Swimsuit’s pretty skimpy, and she’s flaunting it too,” Pheme shakes her head, miming the tiny strings barely covering her sunkissed skin with her fingers, “Maybe jealousy.”
“Maybe it’s the guy, actually,” you continue her train of thought, “Promised he wouldn’t be jealous, changed his mind when he saw hotter guys drooling over his girl?”
“Maaybe,” she lets her arm flop down onto your face, forcing you to dip your own hand in the river and splash her in retaliation. She recoils like a cat hit with a spray bottle, nearly tumbling out of her seat and into the water. You see her begin to retaliate, but she changes course, instantly whipping around and covering you with her body as she cranes her neck to meet the person behind her. “She’s not interested,” she hisses at presumably a guy who was presumably staring at you.
“I’m not here to flirt,” a familiarly obnoxious British voice chimes back, “Unless, of course, she’d be into that sort of thing.”
Your name is Feral. You thought you and your bandmates were going to a crazy tour around the world but instead what happened is that you plane crashed midway. You woke up, and the only person you could find is Fred Cobst, your lead singer. Both of you are confused and scared. What do you do?
Of the sky, the wind running along your skin, whistling in your ear till you can't hear yourself think. Sometimes it's a storm with you at its center, watching it crush everything in its path, thunder rolling, lightning splitting the world. Or space, where there's no noise, nothing weighing you down. Just infinity punctuated by stars.
Your alarm drags you awake.
The same drab ceiling with paint chipping at the corner stares back at you like always. The room's humid again from sleeping with the windows shut. Your routine never changes: get up, eat whatever's in the fridge, shower, work construction for twelve hours, come home dead, repeat.
Your name is Arthur Carr. You live in a run-down apartment, work dead-end construction jobs. And tomorrow, your niece who you haven't seen in years is coming.
Your mother had four children; you being the youngest. None of you grew up well-adjusted. Your eldest sister Rosie married a cop who uses her for a punching bag. She convinces herself that getting abused is part and parcel of the "good life," whatever the hell that means.
Irene, second oldest, grew up hating everything about herself and her family—-an ambitious overachiever, always with a barb loaded behind her tongue. The first chance she got, she fled with some rich boyfriend. Last you knew, she’d gone to school and divorced her boyfriend turned husband, she defends pharmaceutical companies for enough money that she can afford to forget where she came from
April was only a few years older than you, but when you were a kid, you sometimes imagined she was your mother. She was kind and reliable in all the ways your real mother wasn't. She stayed the longest, because of you. You don't let yourself think about her anymore.
It's April's daughter who's coming to live with you. The social workers made it clear you weren't their first choice, so you can only imagine how bad things must be with Rosie and Irene. Though Irene probably refused outright—that's her style.
You're halfway through a cup of coffee when a knock at the door comes.
You open and the social worker stands in your doorway. Her raven hair reaching to her shoulders, she's wearing that same unreadable expression as in all your previous meetings.
Your niece stands at her side. You got the date wrong. <span class="mu-i">How dammit?</span> "Hello, Uncle Arthur."
The girl's voice barely makes it across the threshold. You've met her three times— once when she was born and two supervised visits where the social worker did most of the talking while you sat there just listening.
It takes you half a second too long to respond. Uncertainty worms into her eyes.
The worker shoots you a look that breaks you out of your stupor. You get down to her level, smile wide and do your best to give a good impression.
No matter how much you tried, and try you did, you had never seen your teacher this serious, this focused and grim. Unless a call from the Greater Spirits came, which they did....not too rarely, but this was a different kind of feeling to her eyes you'd seen when those came. This was like your teacher, wise and learned as you knew her, was preparing for an End. An End that she could see but had spoken nothing of to any of the village or even you for that matter, which absolutely unsettled the Chief of course, as they were, by right, to be told of any impending danger and doom, by the claws of monster or hands of man.
Unless this was the work of Spirits.
The thought alone gives you a shiver.
Spirits, being of incredible power and strange variety, had never caused the village any trouble for so long that the idea of it was a small heresy to even imagine. No spirit sent a message without reason, never came to the village themselves, never even seemed to consider the village as anything but something far out of the way and you had the idea it was because the place was so awfully boring and routine. The way you saw it and how your teacher described, which you thought she was really good at since she told much cooler stories than that old stumbling Storyteller who peeked in on lessons with that scowl on his wrinkly face. You'd never say that out loud of course, but you hung onto your great teacher's every word as she spoke, and a part of you fears how quiet and focused your teacher is. How grim their eyes are and how her usual smile had been thinned to a line of pure concentration. You feared, perhaps, the pact she'd told you of at the begining of your lessons had been broken. Had the Greater Spirits called on your teacher to settle some debt the village had incurred? Has there been a breach in the pact so severe that only her head could satisfy them? Had the Greater Spir---
"Child", calls your teacher as she fastened the straps of her old and yet beloved travel pack. The thing has been around the study hanging from a hook for almost as long as you've been her pupil. You almost thought with how it was always there that it might be her first pupil but as silly as it is, it was always there as she taught you her lessons of communication with spirits and important rituals. "I need you to visit with the Elders, especially the Chief. I've written a good few things on a letter they must be given, a good few things they must know, how to do them, and the why of the matter. I need you to hand it to them and then go to the workshop, gather the Skygem before going inside, and then lock the door behind you. Do not open it for anything. Do not open it even if the chief himself comes slamming on it and ordering you to."
Welcome back to Our Brave Boys, a quest that is more about worldbuilding (or loredumping) but also a somewhat light RP setting. You are all young men of 20 years of age and are part of the Nation's Apprenticeship Required for Male Youths, otherwise known as ARMY. The Nation is one of many countries of the Empire, but after decades of suppressing Republican Revolutions, the Nation emerged as the leading faction championing the Monarchy, placing the late Princess of your Nation on the throne as Eternal Empress.
The quest essentially runs as a world event where you are all common soldiers who have little control over the progression of the war, but are nonetheless free to write bits of your characters' thoughts and even subtle actions to bring life to your characters.
The Nation has a mandatory conscription policy for all young men, who must serve for 5 years after conscription at 20 years of age. Nearly a year and a half has passed since the quest started, although new boys are welcome. You might want to skim through the archive to understand the lore.
<span class="mu-s">The Story Thus Far</span> You are the junior brothers of Lexion XXI, 41st Artillery Cohort, Battery Green, Section 1. Any additional entries will overflow to Section 2 of Battery Green.
Legion XXI spent several seasons training and laboring in Japmi until the Southern Principality reported instability due to Revolutionary riots, prompting the Sovereign Marshal to order Legion XXI to be stationed across the bay from the Southern Principality. While Legion XXI was on standby, the Grand Prince of the South escaped a revolutionary coup, prompting General Reigen Mugen to push forth and establish a foothold before the revolutionaries dig in.
Three knocks on your front door, exactly three-and-a-half seconds apart each. Your heart skips a beat. Your body tenses up from head-to-toe. Your breathing forgoes tempo and rhythm. A brief moment of the truest panic you have ever experienced.
Because you know, with absolute certainty, that they have found you.
>Foundational Choice: Origins
(A Foundational Choice is a choice that determines an aspect of the world. Foundational Choices will be used to shape locations and lore, determine who exactly the protagonist is and was, and decide the people they knew in the past, among other important things.)
>You are... an Escapee. Abducted and held in captivity by a shadow organization, you managed a miraculous escape. There's something abnormal about you that got their attention in the first place, and it seems they won't be forgetting you anytime soon. You're the anomaly, after all.
>You are... a Mage. Among the vast majority of humanity, only a small fraction of the population is aware that magic is very much real. Managed by underground groups, cults, and councils across the globe, you were once an upstanding member of one of them until you were blacklisted thanks to a messy disagreement. Maybe they've finally decided to put you down for good.
>You are... a Monster. Humanity fears darkness, and the unknowns that lurk within it. Amidst the shadows are creatures most believe only exist within fiction, and you are one of them. Though you hide behind the guise of a human, no disguise is perfect, and your pursuers are supernaturally persistent.
>You are... a Traveler. Not everyone in the world originates from the same dimension or timeline. You crossed the barrier between realities, following a motive dear to your heart. But your crossing created echoes, and someone or something heard them. You're not supposed to be here.
>You are... an Agent. Invisible to the public eye, various organizations fight to subdue the odd, abnormal, and supernatural. You were recruited after witnessing something you weren't intended to see and taught all you know. Everything was going swell until your final day of employment. You only realized someone had framed you when your partner tried shooting you in the back. You ran and ran and ran more, but it seems like your time and luck have finally run dry.
(Each of these choices branch out into further Foundational Choices.) ...
Welcome to They Found You, an urban fantasy quest about a protagonist who did not want to be found.
